


Dark, The

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-04
Updated: 2008-04-04
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15097739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Post-ep forThe Cold.  Josh knocks.





	Dark, The

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

God, the glitter of lights is beautiful tonight. Their hotel patio is surrounded by it, and the California air is warm, comfortably so. He’s outside with the others, and would be enjoying the pleasant atmosphere except that she is inside. 

Staring off into space, Josh wonders what she’s thinking right now.

He can still picture her sitting across from him, unbelievably lovely in the night air – but now she’s gone, her key out of his reach. Ronna snatched it up, and what could he do? Demand they hand it over because she’d it for him to pick it up?

He loves her.

That, if nothing else, is what he now knows, after a slow and very painful learning curve. He’s known it for a while, really, but ever since she quit he figured it was too late.

Then, this morning, he kissed her. A milestone eight years in the making – and a very sexy and enjoyable milestone at that. But Edie handed her the key and she’d turned away sadly, breaking their eye contact through the glass double doors.

Then a lightning bolt hits him, so obvious he feels like an idiot. It’s not too late, he realizes, to knock the old-fashioned way.

He pushes back from the table abruptly and grabs his backpack, not caring that the rest of them look startled. "Where’s the fire?" Lou asks, eyebrow raised.

"You just got back," Ronna chimes in.

"I have to—uh, I’ll see you guys in the morning. Wake me up if—" he pauses, and shakes his head. "Don’t wake me up."

It’s finally time to do this.

She offered, and Josh can’t stand the thought of her sitting in the dark, not knowing.

He moves quickly through the hotel hallway in the half-jog he’s perfected over the years, single-mindedly needing to get to her room. Yes, he needs to get to her room, and then everything will be okay.

He has absolutely no idea what to say – and it’ll be even harder when he’s in front of her, meeting her eyes and confronting their history. How, he marvels, can there be so much supercharged air between two people?

But he wants her, and he’s finally realized it’s just that simple. All he needs now is to get to her room.

*

Donna has a great imagination, and so from the very beginning her fantasies of Josh were numerous and colorful.

The first one took her by surprise. One day maybe three weeks after he hired her – or after she hired herself, depending on who you asked – he passed her a file across his desk. Their fingers touched and as he turned away, something flashed across his face. Some unconscious reflexive smile, just for her.

Later, in bed, she dreamed about him.

She dreamed that he shoved her to the floor of his office and tore off her one pair of black dress pants, quickly and purposefully. He muffled her pleasure cries with lips that covered hers, hot and insistent. 

Her panties came down and he entered her, roughly, deliciously. It was perfect. He couldn’t hold back his need; he pounded into her, stretching her wider and deeper. Their bodies wrapped around each other, sweaty and close. She came screaming. Screaming his name.

Aah...aah...Josh!

She woke up. Groggily, she got dressed and ready for work.

The days turned to weeks, the weeks turned to months. They worked so well together; somehow they just connected. They were a team. A hundred times a day in a hundred different ways, he showed her that he needed her.

But in her dreams it was a different kind of need.

Sometimes he would press her against the wall, brutally tender. His iron-hard length would ground against her mercilessly, his body heat surrounding her. His familiar smell, his turned-on smile. She would moan in his ear: Josh.

Sometimes he threw her on a bed, urgent and hungry. He would rip at her suit coat, cardigan, whatever. He would drag her panties down with his teeth. He would cover her softness with his hands, his mouth, the bare skin of his legs and stomach and chest. He would envelop her, devour her. She would relish every instant.

He would come, and so would she, from the pleasure in her sex and from watching his face.

Sometimes they went slowly, every touch and look and sound full of their love for each other. Those times he would kiss her with his eyes open, say her name with wonder, ask her to say his. He would touch her hips, stomach, breasts as they made love. His hands would burn her skin, so good that it hurt.

No matter where, no matter how, he would always match her incredible desire with his own.

The most remarkable thing, Donna decided early on, would be the first time they kissed. She dreamed it up even before they moved into the White House, and it would run through her head and tug at her heart at odd times of day.

It went like this: she walked up behind him, holding his schedule for the week. He heard her coming and muttered distractedly that she read it to him. The sound of her voice gave him pause – his shoulders tensed inexplicably. Then he turned halfway through and grabbed her, his grip on her shoulders almost painful in its ferocity. His lips crashed against hers, his eyes were hungry.

Then she would moan, too immediately and too plaintively for him to doubt her feelings. He would sink back into his chair, pull her with him, say I need you. She would nod and say, Me too. He would hike up her skirt with shaking hands and push aside the thin band of her panties. He would plunge himself into her warm, aching pussy.

She needed him. He needed her. That was all. She started to move up and down on his cock.

But always, a millisecond from his climax and her own, she woke up.

She became resigned to the suspended fantasy, like so many things about the two of them that seemed colossal and immobile after eight years of nothing. As the distance between them grew, her dreams grew fainter and more elusive, and slowly died away.

Until this morning, when he shattered everything and grabbed her face and kissed her. Once impulsively, then twice, hot and desperate and searching.

Donna, now kicking off her pumps and sitting cross-legged on her hotel bed, thinks with amusement how quickly she shifted from ‘indifferent resignation’ to handing him the key to her room.

And he sent the key back to her through Edie. Didn’t care enough to pick it up, come and tell her himself that it had all been a mistake. He couldn’t have at least done that?

She feels like punching something. The wall. Her pillow. Josh. But it’s misdirected anger – in truth, she is furious with herself. She knows better than to make herself vulnerable like that. But she read the situation wrong, that’s all.

She supposes it isn’t such a big deal, really, the kiss and his rejection both. Just two more items to add to the very long list of things they don’t talk about. She can bear it, at least until the end of the campaign. Then, having proven herself, it will be time for her to take off for good.

She doesn’t even bother getting undressed, just flips off the overhead light and falls back onto the mattress, staring at the dark ceiling.

Until she hears a knock at her door, and jumps up, heart pounding.

She realizes, as she get up and moves through the darkness, that she can still feel his lips, hands, breath against her face, questioning and full of desire.

*

Josh pauses to compose himself for an instant, then knocks on her door again, as loudly as he dares. He drops his forehead against it – another moment to gather courage – until he hears her footsteps, then quickly steps back.

She answers, still wearing her pink sweater. Hair down in soft waves like before, drop diamond earrings glimmering through. God, she looks good.

She also looks expectant. Oh. Say something.

"Donna—" he begins, then cuts off, running a distracted hand through his hair. Seconds pass as he shuts his eyes, struggling for words.

"Look at me, Josh," she says then in a low, serious voice. It throws him off, so he does. "Why are you here?"

"I need to—" he stammers. "You...uh..."

She watches him, her eyes widening.

"Can I come in?" he bursts out finally. "I tried to get the key, but Ronna got to it first...she handed it to Edie..."

Something lightens in Donna’s expression and she nods and draws back immediately, allowing him entrance.

"This has been an incredible day," he says simply, and steps into her room.

*

Later, when he’s inside of her, he finds he can barely believe it.

Donna’s heat surrounds him. Her delicious limbs, long and supple, are wrapped around him. She smells wonderful, like lotion and sex and herself. Every noise she makes he savors, the moans and sighs and occasional sharp cries.

"Josh," she hisses, her voice going high-pitched with pleasure. That noise too, he thinks, is wonderful.

The light on them is low. They are in the exact center of her bed, moving slowly against each other. Any faster and they’d lose control, they’d fuck with desperation. But each of them is absorbing the full weight of what they are doing, which understandably takes a good long while. It’s built upon eight years of longing, obliviousness, tension and miscommunication, after all.

And yet here she is under him, more like herself than he’s ever seen her. He loves it. Her face, so familiar to him, contorted by pleasure into new, intimate expressions meant for his eyes only.

She slides out from under him, then pushes him on his back and remounts, her craving written all over her face. "Josh," she sighs again, quickly placing him at her hot entrance.

He slams back into her. Something has ignited again in his groin, in his heart. God, the way she moans. Her voice rose just there. Maybe he can make her do it again.

Another slam, and his fingertips dig into the flesh of her ass. She screams. Their hands grab for each other, fingers interweave.

"Josh"—a desperate, tearful wail. "I’m gonna come."

"Donna..." his voice is a harsh whisper. "Come for me?"

"Uh-huh...." She smiles down at him, golden and radiant, then her face slackens.

She presses their pelvises together, groaning, "Oh GOD!" and then she is trembling, her inner muscles clenching around him.

His eyes fall shut—he sends a prayer of thanks up to whichever supreme being deserves his abject gratitude. Here she is, and he can touch her, and kiss her, and maybe she’ll even let him love her.

Now she’s starting up again. Tucking herself against his side, trying to slip back under him. Pressing his erection back inside of her. "Your turn, Lyman," she murmurs with a grin, rocking her hips against his.

"My turn for what?" He thrusts back in, groaning. "Tell me, Donnatella."

She shivers at the use of her full name. Another climax is simmering within reach, she can feel it. "Your turn to come inside me."

"Yes..." it comes out as a pleading whisper.

"Your turn to fuck me and come inside me," she clarifies, looking directly into his eyes.

Josh pants hard as he ups his tempo, slamming into her slick warmth. She matches him thrust for thrust. They’re sweating, warm and sensuous against each other. She lets out a keening cry as he hits a new spot inside her and looks up at him, wanting to see his face.

There’s wetness in his eyes, those brown eyes that are so dear to her. She brings her hand to her cheek and feels her own tears there.

"Josh—" she says, and suddenly her voice is choked up. "Come inside me."

"I want to," he rasps back. "Donna...you have no idea..."

"Come inside me," she orders breathlessly. "You’re going to make me come too."

He moans.

"Josh...I’m right there." Her voice is a high-pitched whimper. "Fill me up, I’m gonna come..."

"Donna!" His body tightens and then he’s over the edge, pushing down into her forcefully. She pulses around him almost simultaneously, wailing with fulfillment.

They suck in air at the same moment. Satiated, overwhelmed, glad to be alive.

*

Josh runs a hand through his hair, casting around for some safe, flippant comment. "Well, that was..." He trails off, and gives up. "That was the most amazing sex I’ve ever had."

Donna laughs helplessly in his arms. "Seconded."

Ten minutes later they are splayed across the bed, arms and legs intertwined, sharing body heat.

"I tried to get the key," he reiterates to the ceiling, then turns to look at her. "I feel like such an idiot."

"Me too." They feel light, giddy, unencumbered. "How is it possible that this took eight years?"

"Don’t ask me. I’m not the one who’s been all...ice queen."

"ICE QUEEN?" she shrieks, leaping up and trying to hit him in the side.

"Hey!" he yelps, dodging her fist and rolling quite accidentally off the bed. She cackles triumphantly and topples down onto him, pinning him effectively against the carpet.

"Take it back."

"NO!" His voice is muffled by the comforter that fell on top of him.

"Take it back."

"No. Don’t – HEY! – don’t tickle me!"

After much naked rough-housing they end up back on the bed, Josh apologizing and gasping for breath while Donna blows a raspberry on his lower stomach.

"See? That wasn’t so hard." And she moves lower, taking his rapidly hardening length into her mouth.

He sucks in air. "If this – oh God – is supposed to be incentive to apologize more quickly in the future..."

"Mmmrrph," she says around a mouthful of his cock, giving him a dangerous look.

"...then it’s working." She smiles, mollified, and he smiles back. Then his face slackens. "Jesus Donna...yeah, more of that."

They have a lot to talk about, they both know it. But after Josh tugs her up for a deep kiss, then flips her over to push back inside her tight, hot passage, they both decide it can wait.

They’re out of the dark, and this time for good.

*

The End


End file.
